


In it for the Girl

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cara <strike>stalks</strike> meets a girl who is from a different world located twenty miles out from her city. Sparks and compromises ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In it for the Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a pair of manips found here: http://sofiemae.livejournal.com/53967.html

Cara hates grocery stores. They’re full of things that get under her skin and always provide her with too many reminders of domesticity. When she shops, her routine is structured such that she wastes little time and thus sees as few children as possible. They always seem to run straight into her without looking, and she always has to hide her scowl when the flustered and apologetic mother shows up.

But right now Cara is not shopping—she’s working. And she’s barely doing that. Someone stole her attention back in the soft drink aisle, and the sudden buzzing voice in her earpiece steals it back rather rudely. “Yeah, I’ve got eyes on,” she murmurs back under her breath. Nobody needs to know that her eyes were on something far different than she just implied.

Cara can only see her back—long, dark, and silky hair spilling over a plaid shirt and legs that probably go on forever hidden in worn denim jeans—but what she could see warrants a closer look, partly because that hair is out of a fucking shampoo commercial. Cara shoves her fists into her black jacket and jumps an aisle ahead, and then, after grabbing a bag of chips and fixing her gaze on the list of ingredients, sees motion out of the corner of her eye at the far end. A discreet glance reveals her mark coming toward her, a leather jacket in the crook of an arm holding her basket of groceries. The brunette has her head down, checking her phone, and Cara holds her breath. The moment stretches on forever, then the woman looks up to read the sign hanging over the center of the aisle. Her delicate eyebrows furrow, her nose scrunches, and her lips sound out a couple silent words, and apparently chips aren’t on her list because she’s turning around to walk back the way she came. All in all, it’s the best thing Cara has seen in days. She grins as she tosses the bag back on the shelf, but rolls her eyes when her earpiece sounds again.

“Cara, report.”

“Report what?” she hisses.

“You said ‘fuck me.’ What is it?”

“I may say that in your dreams, Chase, but keep it to yourself or I’ll shove my boot up your ass.”

“Funny. Where are you? He’s coming out and you’re not. You do know you’re not being paid to get lost in grocery stores, right?”

She breaks out in a near run to the entrance; she’s just gotten this job and losing it would not be good. “Fuck me,” she mutters.

****

Cara hates farms. They smell terrible and are full of clichés, and as she pulls in behind an old, beaten-down pickup truck, she doubts this one is any different. The large house beside the larger barn is nice enough—brick-built and fairly new—but Cara is reluctant as she turns off the engine. “I’ll wait here,” she announces. The old woman in the passenger seat, their latest client, nods and opens her door, and Cara sighs and pinches her nose, hoping the new-car smell would overpower whatever came in. Six months in, the unpleasant parts of this job are beginning to wear on her.

After watching her venerable charge hobble up the porch steps and ring the doorbell, Cara turns the radio on, grimacing as she’s blasted with the loud voices of a talk show. She’s just decided the price of crude oil in Japan is not worth getting so upset over when she glances back up to the porch, perks up in her seat, and stares. Someone has stepped out and is speaking with her client, and Cara can only see her back. A tightly-woven straw cowboy hat, loosely strung around the back of her neck, is hiding the length of her hair, but Cara is fairly sure she recognizes this person from somewhere. Blue plaid shirt, faded jeans, tall frame and body built to kill…

“Turn around,” she murmurs, lowering the volume on the radio.

When the pair step off the porch to head toward the barn, Cara sinks into her seat and turns off the radio completely, as if to avoid detection. It was grocery store-girl. She never expected to see her again, and she definitely never expected to remember her if she did see her. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen in the city if one knows where to look, and when Cara moved here the first thing she did was find out which bars were worthy of her patronage. But something about the way grocery-girl carries herself tells Cara that she is far more than a pretty face, and the way she slings open the barn doors seems to confirm it.

She is not sure what to think of this. At all. Cara spends the next ten minutes staring at the dash in front of her and giving careful thought to how she might not know enough about farms to hate them, and wondering about her view of coincidences. When the two finally emerge from the barn her client is tucking a checkbook away into her purse, and Cara gets the worst idea of her entire life. As much as she believes in naked coincidence, she believes in opportunity just as much. But then Cara remembers that she _doesn’t_ believe in risks, and she sighs, sets her jaw, and starts the engine, enjoying the near-silent but powerful purr. Driving nice cars was one of the nice things about this job.

But then Cara sees the brunette’s face again, and when she’s close enough for Cara to see her eyes, she remembers that one time when a risk actually paid off pretty well. Grocery-girl gives the old woman a gracious smile in parting, and Cara swallows as she watches her turn back to the barn. When her client opens the passenger door and collapses in, Cara is quick with a question. “What did you just buy?”

She’s quick with a response and overly pleased with the sudden opportunity to talk—Cara glared her into silence within five minutes of the long trip from the city out here to the middle of nowhere—and she’s in the middle of talking about her new palomino’s illustrious heritage when Cara steps out of the car and slams the door shut. The smell isn’t as bad as she thought it’d be, and Cara decides that she can handle farms.

Her careful strides over the gravel road catch her up quickly, and then words are suddenly sticking in her throat. “Hey,” Cara says. “Can I—”

Grocery-girl whirls in surprise and Cara interrupts herself, instinctively raising her hands palms forward, because this woman has assumed a certain stance that speaks of experience defending herself. “Where’d you come from?” she demands.

“Oh. I…drove her,” Cara replies, pointing behind her. Strangely, the first thing she notices is that there’s no accent. She’s always figured southwestern accents and cowboy hats went together, no exceptions.

“Oh,” the brunette says, relaxing a little. “You’re really quiet. Can I help you?”

Cara grits her teeth and offers a practiced smile. “I’m looking to buy a horse.”

Blue eyes widen, and then her brow furrows. “Oh?”

“A palomino, preferably,” Cara adds bravely. “If you’ve got any. I’ve heard good things.”

Too much. It was too much, because she’s staring at Cara curiously. She’s given herself away.

“Can you come back tomorrow? Around noon. We’ll see about your horse.”

Or not. “Yeah, I can do that,” Cara says, nodding.

“Okay then. See you tomorrow.” She smiles at Cara and dons her hat before she turns away, and Cara’s hand finds the gun at her hip during the short walk back to the car. She rests her palm on the hard leather holster, and she tries unsuccessfully to figure out why she’s out of breath after walking forty feet.

****

Cara hates her apartment. It’s too small, despite her austere furnishings, and the city noise seems to seep in from the corners. She makes good money now and has been meaning to move up in the world—literally, there’s a newer high-rise downtown that has suites available—but it’s one of the things for which there isn’t enough time in the day. On the other hand, there’s always enough time for a trip to the bar. Often, the hardest decision Cara makes all day is which one to hit up first.

But that can come later; the sun has barely set. Right now she’s on her leather couch with her feet propped on the coffee table next to gun oil and a disassembled Beretta, busy browsing on her laptop for some kind of beginner’s guide to all things horse-related. It’s difficult; there are so many terms, and learning things through words, especially written ones, has never been her strong point. She gives up and calls Chase as she grabs herself a beer from the fridge, and he doesn’t pick up until she has the can open and is looking out into the city from her single window.

“Yeah?”

“I’m busy tomorrow,” she informs him. “Make do without me.”

“All day?”

“Fuck if I know. I’m seeing a girl about a horse; however long that takes. Besides, we all know nobody’s trying to off the old lady. You don’t need me.”

She takes a deep draught while Chase laughs, a deep rumble that matches the physique of the mountain of a man. “Alright, we’ll cover for you, but you owe me. And one day you’ll tell me, right?”

“Tell you what?”

“What you’re actually doing.”

“Seeing a girl about a horse. How much do they cost? Generally?”

A lengthy pause on the other end of the line has Cara smirking. “You’re serious? Uhh, a ton,” he says. “Thousands, easy. What the hell are you…you live in an apartment, and I’ve known you for years and the last thing I expected—”

“I’m in this for the girl,” she interrupts. “Not the horse. I just need to be convincing so I can cut my losses with dignity.”

“Already planning on cutting your losses?” Chase’s disapproval is audible.

“This is a dead end. She’s…I’m just curious. If you saw her you wouldn’t blame me.”

“Listen, you know one day you’re going to need to settle down and actually find—”

She ends the call, downs the rest of her beer, and crushes the can in her fist. Cara rarely hates Chase, but she always hates his lectures.

****

During the entire drive back to the farm, Cara’s already-tenuous resolve is slipping. What she’s doing doesn’t make any sense. Some of the bars that Cara visits have a very specific purpose—enabling women who walk in to relax in the knowledge that others, if they are looking, are looking for the same thing. There is a universal truth that Cara is well aware of, and it makes her want to simply turn around and go back to her apartment; to pass the day in comfortable leisure then attempt to drown in alcohol later that night. The truth is that women as hot as this one are always straight, sometimes taken, and often both. Cara doesn’t take risks; she always goes for the sure thing, and it’s working out well for her life so far. She’s keeping a well-paying job, can easily get company if she wants it—sometimes for a smile and sometimes a drink—and has no relationship to weigh her down or broken heart to nurse. Every road she passes is another opportunity to cut her negligible losses.

But she pulls her truck into the driveway anyway at ten past noon, behind the same older truck as yesterday, and can’t believe she actually made it. Cara shifts into park, leaving the engine running, and slams the back of her head into the headrest. She’s made it this far, and it’s far enough to be proud of. Her comfort zone is definitely breached—Chase would approve, and she can celebrate with a glass of something strong when she gets home.

Which will be in about forty minutes, thirty if she wants it to be.

Shifting into reverse, Cara twists in the seat and backs slowly onto the gravel to turn around. She’s only done just that when she sees one of the garage doors sliding open in the rearview mirror. “Fuck me,” she groans, slamming on the brakes. She can’t leave now. Lowering her window, Cara leans out, sees tennis shoes and faded jeans, and watches the screeching door reveal her inch by inch.

It is a painfully slow garage door.

The brunette is wearing her curious look again, and Cara has never felt more caught in the act. She desperately wants to know the name of this woman—no one ever makes her feel guilty. About anything.

“Where do I park?” Cara calls out. “I didn’t want to block anything.”

“Here is fine,” she says, nodding beside her as she steps out of the garage.

After carefully positioning her truck beside the other, and for lack of any instruction otherwise, Cara trots after her down the short gravel road toward the barn. This time, she clears her throat as she catches up to her, and she receives an appreciative glance and small smile. “I never got your name,” Cara says.

“Kahlan. Amnell.” She stops, offering her hand, and Cara feels that her hands are not soft. They are warm and a little rough from her work, though not overly so, and Cara is not quite sure why she likes that so much. “It’s an Irish name,” the brunette offers, and Cara realizes her own brow was raised slightly as if in question. Her pale and freckled skin makes sense in turn, and she realizes the cowboy hat she saw yesterday was likely a necessity, not a style choice.

“Cara Mason,” she offers.

“No gun today, Cara?”

“It’s my day off.” She shrugs as they continue toward the barn, closer to Cara’s lies. “No hat today?”

“I’m not working outside,” Kahlan says, nodding toward a large, dusty, and oval-shaped ring. It lay beside a wide grassy field enclosed by an old wooden fence, and Cara just notices a black horse grazing on the far side. “I guess you could say it’s my day off,” Kahlan says thoughtfully, “and theirs too.”

“Whose?”

“Who do you think?” Kahlan laughs.

Cara has a very firm view of what she’s attracted to, a clear idea of things that turn her on and things that don’t, but she’s never imagined that watching someone pull open heavy barn doors could be something she wants to see over and over again. She feels privileged, stepping into the massive dark building, but the mystery disappears when Kahlan flips on a row of lights overhead. A row of high-walled stalls take up half of the barn, and a short concrete pad leads into a straw-strewn floor. The strong smell of something Cara can only describe as _barn_ fills her nostrils, but it’s not entirely bad, consisting mostly of hay. There’s a low whinny from the far end that echoes in the closed space, and Cara hears heavy steps and swishing straw before a horse’s head makes itself visible.

“Are you curious, Cody?” Kahlan calls out. “Or hungry?” The horse just blinks, and lazily swings its head back inside the stall. “Curious,” she pronounces, turning to Cara. “So then, here we are.”

Kahlan waits expectantly and Cara gulps; she can’t remember the last time she was this out of her element. She wants, so badly, to be back in the city, in the safety of her apartment. Her hand falls to her side but meets air instead of her holster, and she rests it on her hip awkwardly. “Uh, let’s. I should take a look, I suppose.”

Kahlan smiles and Cara suddenly feels like she’s just won something. “Alright,” Kahlan says, almost sounding excited as she pulls a length of rope from one of many hooked on the wall behind them.

Cara is then subjected to a very debatable torture; on one hand, she honestly doesn’t care about anything Kahlan is saying as she brings out one horse after another, speaking of their bloodlines, of their training, their temperament, and so on. On the other, her voice is mesmerizing, smooth in various lilts and lower tones, and it’s rather fascinating to watch. The massive beasts do everything she requests of them, and when one doesn’t, a sharp tone and tug brings them back in line.

The experience brings Cara an elemental appreciation of someone being good at their craft, and Kahlan definitely is. As far as Cara is concerned all the horses act exactly the same, standing in front of her docilely, but Kahlan tells her that one is antsy and wants out in the field to graze, that another is tired and just wants to sleep, that another is being lazy and afraid he’s going to be asked to work.

When Kahlan brings out what seems to be the last one, she announces, “This is Rio. She’s not for sale, at all. She’s my baby.”

“She’s…huge,” Cara huffs, censoring her swearing. The horse, reddish in color with white markings on her legs and nose, towers above Kahlan’s already-tall frame, especially when she raises her head and seems to sniff openly in Cara’s direction. Cara narrows her eyes.

“Well, not really a baby,” Kahlan admits. “But I raised her from one.”

“You didn’t raise all of them?” Cara wonders.

“Oh, no. I buy them and break them, and then I sell them,” Kahlan says, stroking the animal’s muzzle. “It’s what I do. I rent stable space on top of that. People from the city can buy a horse for pleasure riding and keep it here, where I care for it, and it’s here for them whenever they want it.”

“That’s what I’ll be doing,” Cara says decisively. Kahlan gives her an entirely different sort of smile, as if she knows something Cara doesn’t. It makes her a little uncomfortable. “So how do you break…what does that mean?”

“Horses aren’t born with saddles on them,” Kahlan says. “And if they’re grown without being trained and have problems with being ridden, people send them my way. I can ride horses most people can’t, and when I’m done with them most people can.”

“Oh. Have you ever broken a wild stallion?” Cara asks, feeling brave. “I imagine that would be hard.”

“I tried once, actually,” Kahlan says pensively. “The owners flew him in, but I couldn’t. I had to refer him to someone. That horse…he was something else. I couldn’t handle him. No one could.”

“Oh. Who is that out in the field?”

“The hardest job I’ve taken since the stallion, actually,” Kahlan says. “Our little relationship is going to take some work, but she’ll be worth it. Rio,” she says suddenly, “say hello to Cara. Say hello.”

The horse huffs loudly through her nostrils, and Kahlan tugs lightly on the rope around her neck. “Don’t even start, miss. Say hello,” she commands, her voice deeper and louder. Rio shuffles apart her front legs a little and dips her head low, as if giving a curtsy, and Cara’s brow raises high.

Kahlan grins, like a proud mother, and rubs wide, firm circles over Rio’s shoulder as she straightens herself. “Now _you_ have to come and say hello,” Kahlan informs her.

“Me?” Cara asks pointlessly.

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t like me,” Cara points out. “And she’s huge. Bad combination.”

“She doesn’t trust you,” Kahlan corrects her, beckoning to Cara. “And you don’t trust her, either. But she’s not going to make the first move. So you have to. Now come on.”

Cara thinks of her comfortable couch and cozy apartment, which she suddenly hates a little less, and doesn’t move a muscle. “Maybe I.”

“Come on,” Kahlan urges. “She won’t hurt you. With me here, anyway.”

“Wonderful,” Cara mutters, taking slow steps forward and wondering what the hell she’s expecting to get out of all of this. She nearly stops again—she could swear Rio is glaring at her—but then she looks at Kahlan’s eyes instead, and Cara sighs and reaches out her hand. The horse’s breath is hot on her skin, and Kahlan’s huge smile, directed every bit at Cara, makes everything so far worth it.

“She likes her nose petted. And her neck scratched,” Kahlan offers. She’s standing right by the long arch of Rio’s neck, and she leans her head against her, smiling as she reaches up to scratch firmly near her dark mane. “Don’t you, babe?”

Cara clenches her teeth and reaches out bravely to stroke down the white stripe on Rio’s muzzle, and Kahlan laughs. “What?” Cara bites out, drawing her hand back.

“Nothing,” Kahlan says, and then Kahlan is stepping beside her, placing one hand on the small of Cara’s back and another on her side and pushing her far, far closer to Rio than she was before. Her touch doesn’t linger nearly as long as Cara wants it to, and when Cara opens her eyes she’s inches from Rio’s own dark and accusing ones.

She nearly murmurs an apology—because she’ll be damned if the horse isn’t demanding one for thinking the things she just did—but instead tries to scratch Rio’s neck like Kahlan did, and the animal’s eyes shift to look forward and she huffs again, as if in acceptance. It’s not entirely unpleasant for Cara, either.

“See?” Kahlan says softly, still at her side. “The first move is the hard part.”

Cara just nods, because the words are true, and resists the urge to turn and look at her, because Kahlan is standing so impossibly close it hurts. She can almost feel the heat from Kahlan’s body as she tries fruitlessly to focus on the minute change from red to white on the short and stiff hair of Rio’s muzzle. “This seems like a lot of horses to care for,” Cara says, suddenly desperate for any conversation.

“I have two stable hands,” Kahlan says, finally stepping away and ending the feeling of delicious suffocation. “A couple high schoolers. They help me work these guys and feed them, and I pay them. So I’m not quite alone, but I’m glad I have them—otherwise I would be, and I could only keep a couple at a time.”

“Oh. So you’re not?” Cara nods toward her hands at her sides, and Kahlan raises her brow and holds her hands before her, fingers spread.

“Oh, no. Not whatsoever,” Kahlan says, looking a little flustered. “Every guy I’ve met either tries to walk all over me or wants me to walk all over him. It’s made me very picky, I suppose. I haven’t even said yes to a date in a long time.”

“Looking for an equal, then,” Cara offers, stepping away from Rio in turn.

“Yes. I’m not selling you a horse, you know.”

Cara blanches at the abrupt dismissal. “What?”

“First, I only sell by referral. I care what happens to my horses. Second, you are very much not ready to own one.”

Cara gives her a challenging glance, which Kahlan sends right back. “Maybe I could learn on the way,” Cara counters.

“No. You would learn, and then you would buy. But you never gave any thought to owning a horse before yesterday, and even now you’re not serious.”

Cara expects to swell with anger at being called out, but instead she just deflates. “What gave me away?”

“Well. Palomino is a coat color, not a breed. It would be like saying you’ve heard good things about the performance of yellow cars. That’s on top of the fact that I just sold my palomino to a very nice lady who did nothing but complain about you for the first few minutes of our conversation.”

Cara needs to glare at something, and Rio seems content enough to forget their temporary peace. “What’d she say?”

Kahlan’s lips slowly curl into a faint smile, as if in amusement. “That you were the most antisocial young woman she has ever met, also somewhat vulgar, and it would do you some good to meet some nice people.”

Cara snorts. “That old—”

“And you didn’t ask any questions,” Kahlan interrupts. “During my little show and tell. Which means you’re not interested in buying. You just let me talk. Not that I minded; I will talk anyone’s ear off about my guys and girls here and thank them after.”

Cara purses her lips, completely and utterly caught, and crosses her arms against her chest. “Well, I’m sorry I wasted your time,” she snaps, finally realizing what a mistake this is. “I just wanted to…”

“Cara,” she says carefully, “I’m not angry?”

“You’re not…” She can’t help but think she would be, either that or disgusted or both, if made aware of Cara’s true thoughts.

“No. Come in and wash the horse smell off your hands, and tell me what you ‘just wanted to’ do.”

Cara raises her palm to her nose. “Ew.”

Kahlan smiles. “See? Can’t let you leave like that.”

“I should, though. I should definitely go. I can’t.”

“I insist.”

“Are you sure?” Cara asks.

“Very.”

“Everything from here on out is your fault, then,” she informs Kahlan.

“Okay,” Kahlan says, smiling, and makes to leave the barn. Cara follows.

The inside of Kahlan’s house is cozy, with far more rooms packed in than one person could make use of. But Kahlan seems to be trying; Cara spots a study, and a room with a dusty treadmill and fitness machine, and a spare bedroom with crisp sheets that spoke of disuse. They maneuver through a living room crowded with furniture, arriving in a surprisingly modern kitchen with a small table in the center and a single chair tucked under it.

“This reminds me of my apartment,” Cara offers as they wash their hands in Kahlan’s sink. It may be an outright lie, but it’s conversation. “Only you have far more stuff than I do.”

Kahlan relaxes against her counter beside Cara. “I do have a lot of stuff,” she admits. “But it would feel empty without it, I think.”

“Then stay away from my place,” Cara snorts. “It will empty-feeling the hell out of you. I have a couch and a TV and a dresser and bed. Oh, and a coffee table.”

Kahlan almost seems impressed. “Wow, that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So you’re not.” She nods tentatively at Cara’s hands, equally devoid of shiny diamond rings, and Cara suddenly feels every bit as flustered as Kahlan looked earlier. It’s not a good feeling. Kahlan gives her a reassuring, or maybe apologetic, smile.

“Oh. No. Not legal in this state yet, anyway,” Cara says.

“What? Oh. I.” Kahlan looks down, and Cara immediately regrets her words with a vengeance.

“I’m sorry,” she says curtly. “Too much information.”

Kahlan isn’t saying a word as she stares at the floor, and Cara knows that she just ruined everything. She’s figured Cara out; she knows why she is here, what she wants, and now she’ll be angry, or disgusted, or overly polite as she asks her to leave, and Cara doesn’t know which is worse. Kahlan isn’t smiling anymore, and if Cara sees a fake smile on her she feels like she might die. It’s what Cara deserves for thinking she could do…this. What the fuck was she thinking?

“I should really go,” Cara says quietly. “Really. Thank you for the…everything. I’ll see you around.”

She moves for the door in the kitchen, and she has her hand on the handle when Kahlan’s voice stops her. “No, I want you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Cara doesn’t turn around. “Don’t ask for the truth unless you want it, because right now I’m pissed enough to say it.”

“Why did you come here? Today, the second time? The truth, please.”

Cara whirls and sees Kahlan staring at her now, not the floor, with her head raised, and she is completely unprepared for the challenge in her blue eyes. It catches her off guard, and Cara, who planned on making the truth as insulting as possible—because she needs to see hurt for closure, because she needs to hurt Kahlan like she hurts the soft things she picks up at bars—ends up just letting words spill freely instead. Because Kahlan is not soft; Kahlan is like her.

“Because I saw you,” Cara says, “at the grocery store six months ago and I checked you out because you were hot, and I almost lost my new job because it was my first shadow and you distracted the living hell out of me. And then I saw you again yesterday, and I knew it was you, and I didn’t understand because I forget faces like you wouldn’t believe. And I had to do something about it, because apparently when you’re around I break all my own rules, some I don’t even know I have, and I had to know more about you. To know why. Also, you are still hot, and that doesn’t help matters at all.”

“Oh,” Kahlan says, blushing a little. “How did you know that door leads to my garage?”

Cara blinks. And then again. “I’m good with layouts. It’s part of my job.”

“Oh.”

The silence becomes painful, and Cara is seconds away from continuing with her planned escape when Kahlan says, “Don’t go yet.”

Cara clenches her jaw. “How can you not want me to go? After what I…”

“Because I want you to stay?”

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t want you to go.”

“You don’t make any fucking sense,” Cara says sharply. “At all.”

Kahlan smiles at this, and Cara is caught by surprise as her anger evaporates. “I owe you a confession now, is all,” Kahlan says. “This is all my fault, remember?”

“Alright,” Cara says guardedly.

“I made an appointment with you knowing you wouldn’t likely ever be buying anything. I knew you weren't a customer, and that's why you got to see Rio. I was trying to figure you out.”

“Figure me out,” Cara repeats. “And have you?”

“Hardly. You are quite complicated,” Kahlan says softly. “Can I say that I find you very intriguing? As a person.”

“I suppose,” Cara allows. “But.”

“After I talked to you yesterday, I spent the rest of the day and most of this one thinking about what you could really be after.”

“You,” Cara admits.

Kahlan blushes and looks down again, but this time a smile, shy and faltering though it is, finds its way onto her face, and her words falter in turn. “I think I was where you are, once. There was a girl, once. But I wasn’t brave enough, like you are, and so she. And then I kind of gave up on that…part of me.”

“I’m probably different from her,” Cara says, and she’s not sure whether it’s a warning or not.

“Very. You are quite different, and maybe I like your eyes better. And your hair is long and blonde, and I like it. And.” She shrugs.

“Oh,” Cara says, as what Kahlan is saying truly hits her. “Wait. You’re actually…”

“Not angry, and not at all upset, and extremely flattered, and very interested in what you have to say next?”

Two images vie for dominance in her thoughts: that of Kahlan under her on a bed, maybe the one a few feet away in the next room, and that of Kahlan across from her at a nice restaurant, maybe the place downtown that Chase is always raving about. She doesn’t know what Kahlan wants, and she’s not sure what she herself wants. It’s hard as Cara’s gaze sweeps up her body, but then Cara sees her eyes and the choice is easy.

“Dinner,” Cara squeaks. “Tomorrow. Will you?”

“Yes,” Kahlan says, and Cara feels like she has won another prize when she smiles.

****

After an entire night spent rediscovering her long lost and formerly useless art of conversation, which Cara prolongs as long as possible by slowing to a near-crawl once they enter Kahlan’s driveway, she finds herself walking Kahlan to her porch, and painfully decides she's going to let things play as they will and not press her luck. She’s somewhat surprised as they continue right past her porch, past her front door, instead heading toward the barn and riding ring and field. She’s become addicted to Kahlan’s smiles over the course of their date, having managed to catalogue several different kinds so far, but the one Kahlan is giving her right now is a little different.

“So,” Kahlan says. “I bought us some more time, since you were planning on ending the night.”

“I noticed. What did you want to do with it?” Cara asks, somewhat hopefully, as she glances back at Kahlan's house where a single porchlight is flooding away darkness.

“Talk to you,” Kahlan says softly. “I like doing this.”

“You do,” Cara agrees, nodding sagely. While she can think of better things to do with Kahlan than talking, she doesn’t mind overmuch. Being with Kahlan is easy, natural, and a little too relaxing, and Cara’s resulting and sudden affinity for honesty is almost dangerous. At the same time, Cara is in nothing short of awe that someone seems so genuinely interested in things she says, her thoughts and opinions about some things that matter and some that don’t. She’s never had problems sharing her opinions, but Kahlan actually seems to care.

“So,” Kahlan says. “During dinner, we didn’t talk about…how did you come to be carrying a gun around and such? The way you carry yourself. Law enforcement? Military?”

Cara nods. “Would you believe special forces?”

“Wow. Were you? Are you?”

“I almost was. I was in training a couple years ago, then my problem with authority became an actual problem. I never saw active service, but I would have if my C.O. hadn’t been a dick. And if I hadn’t told him as much about twenty times. Within two minutes. I decided then that I’d only follow orders from people worthy of giving them.”

“Wow,” Kahlan says, sounding dutifully impressed by at least one part of her story. “And what do you do now? Is it top secret?”

Cara laughs. “Hardly. I’m with D-Sec. It’s a private security firm that a friend hooked me up with. I don’t know how much you know about the inner city, but it’s kind of a mess in some ways. Anyway, I'm a bodyguard for people that either need it or think they do. It’s all the same to us. The old lady yesterday, for example, just has a paranoid husband. But six months ago, when I first saw you, I was supposed to be protecting a guy whose father stepped on enough toes to get a bounty on his head. But his old man didn’t want him to know, so we had to stay out of sight. Thus shadowing.”

“Wow. Sounds exciting,” Kahlan says. “And dangerous.”

“Whole lot of neither,” Cara snorts. “It’s dreadfully boring. I haven’t even had a chance to shoot anyone.”

Kahlan bumps her shoulder against her own, playfully and disapprovingly. “You sound disappointed.”

“Maybe a little,” Cara allows, and then realizes that most people actually don’t want to shoot other people. “But not really.”

“Do you get a hard time for not being a man? From your clients.”

“I can switch mags in my Beretta faster than most people can say the word. That’s usually all it takes. So.”

“So,” Kahlan offers.

“You didn’t grow up here. No accent. Thus, not a family thing, here.”

Kahlan shrugs. “I struggled all through law school with doing this instead, and here I am.”

“Law school? Really?”

“Yeah. I finished. Got myself a degree from an Ivy League and everything. I was going to be a judge.”

“Wow,” Cara says, honestly impressed and suddenly a little worried. “But?”

“But I love this too much. When I got a loan and bought this place, I lost friends and even some family who said they didn’t want to see me destroy my life. Luckily I’m really good at this and paid tuition and my loan back within a couple years.”

“Wow. So we both.”

“Could be in different places,” Kahlan offers.

“But instead, I’m guarding things, and you’re breaking them.”

Kahlan nods.

“So,” Cara says thoughtfully. “What the hell was that you almost pulled on me? When I surprised you.”

“I took self defense classes,” Kahlan says, grinning suddenly. “Living alone and such, and being aware of our city’s reputation. Did really well. It’s kind of instinct, I guess.”

Cara smirks. “Just so you know, it’s kind of instinct for me to move quietly. On gravel, it’s about rolling your foot and controlling your ankle.”

“Noted. You want a shot at me?”

“In so many ways,” Cara says, and Kahlan laughs.

“No, I mean, try and take me down.”

“Are you sure? Because I will.”

“Doubt it,” Kahlan says.

They’ve wandered beside the barn, into the cut grass there, and Cara cants her head. “Is there shit in this grass? Because you’re going down in it.”

“No. Other side? Very yes.”

“Noted,” Cara says, and then she surges at Kahlan. Her blue eyes widen in the dark for the smallest moment before she drops left, far quicker than Cara thought she would, and Cara very nearly loses balance. Then her arm is solid around Kahlan’s waist, but Kahlan has a foot planted and twists away, and Cara drops suddenly and Kahlan’s foot leaves the ground. There is a delicious sound of surprise from her mouth, but then Cara’s arm belongs to Kahlan and they end up on the grass very much tangled together and laughing. Cara wrestles her way on top with more effort than she'll admit.

“Don’t feel bad that I beat you,” Cara says, grinning down at the taller woman. “I’m quite good.”

“So you think you’ve won,” Kahlan says slyly, and then Cara feels legs flex around her as Kahlan pushes up, and the earth and sky switch places as she’s twisted onto her back, making Kahlan the breathless victor smiling down at her.

“Fuck, your legs are strong,” Cara gasps, lifting her head off the ground. Kahlan is very much sitting on her, and Cara decides to let her win pretty often. “Seriously? Almost cheating.”

“Cowgirling has its advantages,” Kahlan teases, and squeezes Cara’s middle with her thighs, just hard enough to make her point. Cara nearly dies on the spot. Kahlan’s body is lithe and lean, with firm muscle under deceptive softness, and Cara wonders what she feels like to Kahlan.

“I never said you were a cowgirl,” she protests. “You’re a trainer. Right? No cows involved.”

“Maybe I don’t mind being called a cowgirl.” Kahlan shrugs, shifting a little on top of her. “But no, no cows.”

They both recover quickly from the short bout of exertion, and Cara watches in amusement as Kahlan becomes aware of the ambiguity of their position and closeness. Her eyes widen when Cara begins to reach up for her, partly in earnest and partly to see what she’ll do, and Cara’s eyes follow suit when Kahlan forcefully pins her arms back to the ground. She instinctively wants to fight back, but manages to quell the urge. Then Kahlan smiles another new smile, far different than any she’s seen, and she lowers her head to Cara’s neck and breathes in. “God, you smell good,” Kahlan says softly, almost purring. “You smell like girl. Are you here to save me, city girl? To protect me and guard me?”

Arousal that was teasing Cara around the edges hits her like a fist to the chest at the tone of her voice and the scent of her in turn, and the grass tickles Cara’s neck and arms as she looks up into Kahlan’s searching expression. “No; you hardly need it,” Cara says honestly. She lets her gaze lower to Kahlan’s chest. “And maybe my intentions are not at all so noble.”

Kahlan laughs, as if she's unaware of what she's just done to her. Or maybe she isn't. “My pants are staying on tonight, Cara. But these illicit intentions of yours—are they set in stone?”

It’s an incredibly loaded question, and Cara swallows. She’s asking what Cara truly wants, but luckily she decided halfway through dinner. “My intentions have already changed. But the longer you straddle me like this,” Cara admits, brazenly and pointedly laying a hand on her upper thigh, “the more they’re slipping back to what they were when I first saw you.”

Kahlan looks satisfied with her answer and unfazed by her forwardness, and when she stands Cara sorely misses the warm weight of her. “Come on,” Kahlan says, and Cara lets her help her up.

“I can’t get used to how quiet is out here,” Cara says, as Kahlan leads them to the wooden fence built from worn posts and thick planks. “It’s different there.” She nods toward the close glow of the city on the horizon.

“I grew up in a big city,” Kahlan says, lifting herself to take a seat on the fence. She pats a spot next to her, and Cara gamely hops up beside her. “But I don’t think I could live in one now. I’m used to this, and the smell gets to me whenever I go into town.”

“The smell,” Cara says, amused at the irony. “Well, actually.” Her brow furrows. “I don’t smell farm anymore.”

“Yeah. You get used to it pretty quick. And I don’t really have a farm, Cara. I have a stable. There is plenty of farmland out here, though.”

Cara nods, looking out toward the city and her apartment. “That makes it easier for me, I think. To believe that I’m here.”

Kahlan sighs beside her and shifts herself a little closer. This time Cara does turn to her, and she swallows as she lets herself look closely into Kahlan, into the beauty she sees there, written in blue eyes and smooth skin; everything that she desperately wants to be closer to. Cara raises a hand, lifting locks of soft, dark hair that is every bit as silky as it looked six months ago, and Kahlan licks her lips and lowers her eyes.

“I still don’t know where you came from,” Kahlan says softly. “But I’m glad you did. Cara, I want you to know that I.”

“Oh, no,” Cara jokes, leaning away. “Talking is about to get dangerous.”

“Shut up and let me say this.”

Cara blinks and closes her mouth, and she waits.

“I need you to be patient with me,” Kahlan says at length. “Because I haven’t done this in a long time.”

Cara nods, and she’s not about to reveal that she’s pretty sure it’s been longer for herself, and that she’s never truly wanted to before, not like this. “Patient is easy. There’s nothing I wouldn’t be for a chance with you,” she declares instead, and is quite pleased with the way it sounds.

“You have your chance,” Kahlan says. “We’re both taking one. I know that you took a risk as well, because there was no way you could have known that I would be…receptive. And I admire that, and I still can’t believe you were afraid of Rio. You strike me as someone who isn’t afraid of anything.”

“She’s big,” Cara mutters, sitting forward. “I’ve never been that close to a horse before.”

Kahlan nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Cara, I want you to know that, wild stallion or not, I do not want to break you, or fix you. I have a feeling that you’re worried that I might. But I don’t.”

“I am an open book to you,” Cara confesses. “Aren’t I?”

“Sometimes.” Kahlan smiles. “With that said, you should know that me and my horses are a package deal. And you’ll eventually have to ride one, more than likely.”

Cara nods in acceptance and relaxes back a little, spreading her hands on the plank under her. “Okay. I just have. Um. Too much space in my small apartment, and a few too many guns for one girl, and a single overbearing friend to whom I’m planning on bragging about you, and lots of issues. I am…kind of fucked up.”

Kahlan hops down off of the fence and steps in front of her, and Cara suddenly realizes they are of equal height, exactly at eye level, like this. When Kahlan rests her arms around Cara’s neck, possessively, and draws their faces close, Cara very nearly whimpers. “You are not fucked up,” Kahlan says firmly and softly, against Cara’s lips. “I think you are pretty amazing, and that’s why I want to go a little slow with this. Because I really want to see where it goes. And I’m afraid that for now, this is all you get.”

When Kahlan kisses her, slowly and gently, Cara feels like she has just won the world wrapped in a bow.

****

Cara hates van duty. Chase gets to have all the fun this time, being big and intimidating to strangers, and she’s stuck inside an incredibly tight space, monitoring four very boring things on four tiny monitors. She doesn’t even know how Chase fits in here when she’s out in the field. But then her phone vibrates in her hand, because she’s definitely not been holding it the entire time just in case, and she promptly fumbles it onto the floor, where it skids under a seat. “Shit,” she mutters, and as she searches for it, she knows it could be anyone.

Because sometimes things aren’t meant to be, and Cara has come to accept that a lot of things in her life are not meant to be. It’s the day after, and Kahlan hasn’t called so far, and that means she has likely come to her senses. She’s realized that Cara was only a distraction, entertainment at best, a dream from a different time, and Cara likes to imagine that maybe she was some eye candy too.

But then she finds her phone and sees Kahlan’s face, twisted between a pout and smile with eyes looking away, taking up the screen with their waiter’s hand right by her ear where it happened to be when Cara snapped the picture during their date, and Cara sighs with relief as tension leaves her. It’s just a text message, or rather a picture—Kahlan promised she would send a better one than Cara took—and as much as she is definitely not deleting hers, she wastes no time replacing it as Kahlan’s caller ID. There are many things that Cara hates, and some that she’s indifferent about, and very few things that she likes. She’s always had a thing for cheerleaders in short skirts, for example, but cowgirls in general never really registered as existing to Cara, and cowboy hats were firmly in the hate category. But this picture changes all of those things forever, because under the hat are Kahlan’s eyes, the ones she would do anything for, looking right at her, and her lips curled in Cara’s favorite smile—the natural one that simply says she's happy.

She sends it to Chase as fast as her thumb can press the buttons. “Chase, check your phone,” she commands into her earpiece. “It’s important. And top secret. Do not resend or I will throttle your neck.”

“Your hands can’t reach around my neck,” Chase rumbles back. “Remember? You tried. What is…oh, fuck me. This is the girl you saw about a horse? She is gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Cara says, grinning. “Her name is Kahlan. She’s hot as hell, huh? She kissed me last night, and then she said I wasn’t going to get to see her naked anytime soon and sent me home. It’s going to drive me crazy. She’s amazing.” Her eyes narrow suddenly. “And she’s all mine. Don’t even try to—”

“Just because I give better hugs,” he chuckles. “One girl tells you I give better hugs than you and you’re jealous for life.”

“You’re a fucking…eight hundred pound boa constrictor. I don’t see what the big deal is, but you’re still not allowed to hug my girlfriend, Chase.”

“What’s the horse’s name? Behind her.”

“What?” Cara inspects the picture more closely. “Oh. I didn’t even notice Rio. What are you, as gay as me? The most beautiful woman on the planet is right in front of you, and you’re looking past her.”

She rips the earpiece out when the phone actually rings, and when Kahlan’s new picture shows up again Cara answers it far more quickly than is socially acceptable. “Hey,” she says breathlessly.

There’s an agonizing pause that’s all of half a second, during which Cara wonders if she’s considering hanging up. “Hey,” Kahlan says softly, and Cara loves hearing the obvious smile in her voice.

“You called,” Cara offers.

“Of course I called,” Kahlan laughs. “Did you get my.”

“Yes, I love it. And you are beautiful, but Rio is glaring at me in it.”

“Oh. Well I’ll have to take another, then?”

“Okay,” Cara agrees. “Should I send you.” She couldn’t even make herself finish the offer, but just like every other half-sentence Cara says, just like everything about Cara, Kahlan understands her perfectly.

“If you want,” Kahlan says shyly. “When do I get to see you again?”

Cara doesn’t want to crowd Kahlan or overdo things. “Maybe sometime later this week. I might be busy later,” she lies.

“Oh. So not tonight?”

She sounds disappointed, and Cara promptly melts. “Well.”

“I just wanted to show you my knife collection,” Kahlan says. “I thought you might want to see it. I have a wall in my study that’s…it can wait, I guess.”

“A knife collection,” Cara breathes, and thinks she might be in love. “One sec. I’ll just.”

She presses the phone to her thigh to mute it and picks up the earpiece. “Chase? She has a fucking knife collection. Do _not_ let me fuck this up.”


End file.
